


Come To Stay

by trailsofpaper (Sanwall)



Category: Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Dancing, Love Letters, M/M, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Religion, Sex, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 02:19:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15939752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanwall/pseuds/trailsofpaper
Summary: Neither of them particularly wanted to be in the army, but it's nice, Andrew thinks, to have made a friend in Steven. But there's a war on, and when it turns out they're a little more than friends, being sent to different sides of Europe is its own kind of hell.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Billie Holiday’s “How Am I to Know"
> 
> First: you can blame this fic on [andrewilynyckyj](https://andrewilynyckyj.tumblr.com/) and their gifset of Andrew from that one video where he wears a WWII uniform, and several subsequent brainstorming sessions between us. I’ll also thank you for being the most reliable source on Andrew information out there; it’s a massive help. This wouldn’t have happened without you.
> 
> Second: This fic was a struggle to write and there is no way for me to adequately express how much [pursuingsunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pursuingsunshine/pseuds/pursuingsunshine) helped me shape it into an emotionally coherent thing. I can’t thank you enough for not letting me take shortcuts and for making me make the best version of this fic that I could. This story is honestly so much better for your involvement.

* * *

**i.**

* * *

 

It hadn’t really been Andrew’s idea, was the thing. Lots of his friends went to the draft office and his brother did too, which had got him thinking. And then when he found his parents hunched over the kitchen table, going over their papers and trying to puzzle out how to pay for Andrew’s college, the decision was made for him.

“I’m signing up,” he’d told them, easy as anything. “I hear there’s a war on.”

So now all he had to do was make it through and the G.I bill would pay his tuition - but that didn’t make boot camp any less of a slog. Andrew was used to rising with the sun, but it was one thing to feed the chickens first thing in the morning and another to be forced outside with all of his cabin mates, starkers but for the scratchy, army issued underwear, and hosed down with ice cold water and then told they had five minutes to get dressed and eat breakfast before P.E.

Returning to the barracks, Andrew was shivering and had water in his eyes, which was how he ended up on his nose because someone in a passing platoon already dressed to the nines and armed to the teeth thought it’d be funny to stick out his rifle and make him trip. He hit the ground hard, skinning his knees and palms for sure, but unable to feel it just yet. He lay there, face down and dazed in the dust, for a good long moment until he felt a hand on his shoulder. His entire body tensed with the expectation of being either violently yanked or pressed further into the dirt.

Instead a soft voice called, “Hey, are you all right?”

Andrew pulled himself upright and blinked water and grit out of his eyes to look at the man who had crouched on the ground beside him. He was fully dressed, rifle hanging off his shoulder, and Andrew surmised he belonged to the passing platoon, now only a dot in the distance of the compound. He had dark, almond-shaped eyes that were gazing on Andrew with worry, and despite the early morning, his black hair was already sticking to his forehead with the California heat.

“I’m fine,” Andrew said and grasped the proffered hand so that they could both rise to their feet. “Thanks.”

The man smiled, but then he cast a look down Andrew’s body, brow furrowing. “You might have to shower again,” he said, without a hint of mockery in his voice. “You’re covered in dirt. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t trip me. Nothing to be sorry for,” Andrew said and looked down as well. The yellow dust had stuck to his wet skin in cakes of mud, which seemed like just his luck. “Look, won’t you get in trouble for abandoning your platoon?”

The man’s smooth face cracked up into a smile. “Not any more trouble than you’ll be in, late for roll call.”

“Oh, fuck!” Andrew said and turned on his heel. He scrambled up the stairs to his barrack, but not before he threw a “Thank you!” over his shoulder and thought he saw the man give him a cheeky salute in return.

* * *

Some days you just couldn’t win, so Andrew figured he’d just do his best to keep his head above water until it was over. He did get in trouble for being late, but dishwashing duty wasn’t so bad. His palms barely stung anymore. Besides, when he was done, he could button up his shirt and get a rare moment alone on the stairs outside the mess hall, smoke a cigarette in peace. Only it turned out he wasn’t alone on the stairs.

“If you’re out here to give me more grief, you better keep walking, pal!”

Andrew’s step stuttered, his hand freezing on its way to his jacket pocket to retrieve his pack of cigarettes. The man who had spoken was leaning on the brick wall of the mess hall, wearing the same army greens and private rank as Andrew; with a shock, he realized it was the same guy who’d helped him to his feet that morning. His shoulders were hunched and arms defensively crossed, hair still sticking to his forehead under the cap.

This time Andrew had the presence of mind to look at the name tag on his chest, which read “Lim”, before he looked up into his eyes. He saw recognition flicker in them, and something in his stance relaxed, even if all that easy-going, well-meaning cheer Andrew remembered seemed to have evaporated.

“I’m not out to give you any grief at all,” Andrew answered easily and pulled out the pack. He slid one cigarette out and held it to private Lim, who shook his head.

“Thank you, but I don’t smoke.”

“Suit yourself,” Andrew said and slipped it between his own lips instead and started to fumble for a lighter. He set his hip against the wall beside his new companion when he lit it, aiming for an air of nonchalance. He put the lighter back in his pocket, took a slow first drag, the smoke pouring out of his nose when he continued: “So, who’s been giving you grief? You just fell behind a little.”

Lim scoffed and kicked at a rock, sullenly. The both of them watched the arc of the pebble, heard the soft sound of it hitting the sandy earth.

“It’s not that I fell behind. You know why they’ll take any reason to haze me.”

Andrew took another drag, watching him out of the corner of his eye. Lim’s cap was a little crooked, and something in Andrew wanted him to reach out, set it straight.

“Can’t say I do,” he said and blew out a cloud of smoke. “You seem like a perfectly nice fellow.”

Lim let out a humorless huff of laughter and put his hands in the pockets of his pants as he looked up at the darkening sky. “Thanks. It’s just... They take one look at me and declare me enemy of the state. I’m not even Japanese, but it’s not like anyone’s going to give me the time of day to find that out.”

Andrew took a third drag before flicking the cigarette a couple of times to get rid of the ash. He used his free hand to reach over and rap his knuckles against the name tag on Lim’s chest.

“I’m sure it’s just a couple of hotheads who wouldn’t recognize a United States Army uniform if it danced the cancan and bit them in the ass.”

Lim’s eyes lit up in a smile, and it was like his entire face transformed. His laughter was bright in a way that made Andrew shirk back just a little, like he was afraid of getting blinded. Maybe he was.

“I think you’re trying to cheer me up and that’s awful nice of you,” Lim said and looked down. Andrew couldn’t be sure, not in this light, but it seemed to him like Lim was blushing, and it made Andrew’s stomach feel a little funny.

“Hey, they’re having a dance in the commissary,” Andrew said and wedged the cigarette back in between his teeth. “Let’s go, I’m sure those girls are dying to dance with a sweet guy like you.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Lim said, still avoiding eye contact and shifting his foot. Andrew smoothed down the front of his own, slightly wrinkled army shirt with both hands and grinned at Lim around his cigarette.

“Come on, I hear they’re always weak for a man in uniform.”

“It’s not that!” Lim said and looked up. His eyes were wide and Andrew saw him bite his lower lip before he continued in a lower voice, “I don’t know how to dance.”

Andrew had to pluck his cigarette out of his mouth so he could gape. “You don’t know how to dance? Now, there’s a reason for giving you grief!”

Again Lim’s gaze slid to the ground, and he hunched his shoulders.

“Never had the chance to learn,” he muttered, and it was something in the dejected set of his mouth that decided it for Andrew. He dropped his cigarette altogether and ground it into the earth with the heel of his boot.

“Come on,” he said again and gripped Lim’s elbow tight. “I’ll teach you.”

Andrew’s brain caught up with his mouth and his legs when it was way too late. He was already leading Lim on up the stairs, elbow still in hand. Too late, Andrew realized what this had to look like, two fellas stealing away under the cover of impending night to be alone. But Lim wasn’t protesting, and Andrew figured he was in for a penny already, might as well spend the pound. The mess hall had a radio, and it was empty, free of jeering spectators.

He switched the radio on, and as luck would have it, it was playing Charlie Spivak’s orchestra, all the way from Chicago. The dance tune was suitable, and Andrew held out his hand.

“I’ll lead to give you an idea, and then you can give it a go, all right?”

“All right,” Lim said, and even though he hesitated, he still smiled when he placed his hand in Andrew’s. He was a good inch or two taller, but Andrew had been in similar situations before, with ladies in heels, and it didn’t bother him particularly. It was strange, however, to note how smooth Lim’s palm was in his - how his hands bore no calluses from handling weapons during training, as Andrew’s did. It was also strange to put his other hand to a slim waist that tapered off to narrow hips, but Lim obediently placed his own hand on Andrew’s shoulder, and it was nothing for Andrew but to swing him out on the improvised dance floor.

“A waltz is just,” said Andrew and looked down at their feet, clumsy in their army boots, “one two three, one two three - see, you’re getting it!”

He looked up and saw that the tip of Lim’s tongue was peeking out between his teeth while his gaze was firmly locked on their moving feet. Instinctively, Andrew tilted his shoulder inward and closed the gap between them as he said, “It’s good form to look your dance partner in the eye, too.”

Lim raised his eyes and Andrew regretted his words instantly. There was a glimmer of humour in those eyes, their color a warm brown that spilled out in dark eyelashes slanted to give the impression of thoughtfulness, and Andrew liked them a whole lot.

“I’m sorry to ask,” Lim said, and Andrew found his own gaze dropping, unable to maintain eye contact. “But how do you pronounce that name on your tag?”

Andrew laughed before answering, _“Il-nick-ee,_ thanks for asking. But you can call me Andrew if you want.”

“Andrew,” Lim said, and Andrew risked a look into his eyes again. “I’d like that. You can call me Steven, then.”

“All right, Steven,” Andrew said and Steven showed his teeth in a smile that Andrew couldn’t help but respond to with a grin of his own. “I’m gonna try and swing you out, okay?”

“Okay?” Steven said, and Andrew had to give it to him, he was excellent at following direction because when Andrew took a step back, he followed as if by instinct. Andrew had to pull Steven’s hand in between them, set his own free hand behind his back and lift their joined hands above their heads to twirl Steven around. Steven was laughing when Andrew caught his waist again, and Andrew realized he was still smiling himself.

“All right, let’s try that again,” he said. “Let me step back and then- “

Andrew managed to push Steven out in a passable one-two swing, and then he tugged at his hand to bring him back in, and Steven was still laughing. Andrew was glad for it, because without the laughter this would have turned into an embarrassing affair pretty quickly, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Steven said. “I suppose I didn’t expect my evening to pan out like this.”

“Well, that makes two of us, buddy!” Andrew said, making a face. In that moment, the sound of approaching footsteps and loud talk reached their ears, and Andrew quelled his instinct to jump back, like what they’d been doing was illicit. Instead he leaned back and quirked his eyebrows.

“See you same time tomorrow? You can take me for a spin then.”

And Steven, who still hadn’t quite stopped smiling, brightened further and nodded once.

“Sure thing, Andrew,” he said and slipped out of his hands, like he’d never been there. Andrew walked over to the radio and shut it off just as the doors to the mess hall burst open for a gaggle of latecomers who wanted to see if they could mooch something off the kitchen staff.

Steven had to explain to them that they weren’t kitchen staff and couldn’t help them, and then when they were asked what they were doing, Andrew replied, “Washing the dishes,” before he marched out the doors with Steven at his heels, suppressing a fit of laughter.

They said goodbye by the barracks, to retire on their own, smiling brightly at each other. But the fluttery, happy feeling left over from the encounter didn’t leave Andrew, not even when he tossed and turned in his bunk, trying to fall asleep. He found it kind of funny that he didn’t regret not attending the actual dance.

* * *

The following week, Andrew learned to pick Steven out from a crowd - they smiled at each other when their eyes met, and it was nice, to have made a friend in a place neither of them particularly wanted to be. They met again, in the empty cafeteria after hours, when neither of them had guard duty. With each time they met Andrew felt a new sort of trepidation spring up; he thought the both of them were aware of the almost clandestine atmosphere between them, and Andrew felt a little thrill in the pit of his stomach every time he switched on the radio.

“Will you let me lead?” Steve asked the third time they met to practice dancing. His stance was relaxed, foot thrown out and hips tilted where he had his hands in his pockets. Andrew cocked his head to the side and grinned, felt light at how easy it was to say:

“I don’t know, will I let you lead?”

Steven huffed out a breath, half a laugh, half indignation, and then he took a decisive step forward and held out his hand. “May I have this dance?” he said and gave a half-bow without breaking eye contact. Andrew was still grinning when he put his hand in Steven’s.

“You seem to have picked something up at least.”

“I sure hope so,” said Steven and carefully, very carefully, held up Andrew’s hand and put his other on Andrew’s waist. Andrew settled his hand on the crook of Steven’s elbow and not on his shoulder - that would have felt too intimate, too close to the edge of his collar and the skin of his neck, where he could see a band of gold peek out beside the dull metal gray of his dog tag chain. Steven swallowed and then led Andrew out on what counted as a dance floor.

Andrew had to give it to him - Steven was a quick study. He had the one-two-three rhythm down, but Andrew could read hesitance in his grip, his step faltering if Andrew dragged his feet for even a fraction of a second. There was a gap between them, something that Andrew would have to tell him to close when he danced for real, but didn’t want to put into action right this moment.

“You’re doing all right,” Andrew said, and Steven looked up from where he’d had his gaze glued to their feet, a smile threatening to break out.

“Really?” he said and Andrew bit down on a grin of his own.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “But keep your eyes on me, okay? You’re going to stumble if you look at your feet.”

“Feels counterintuitive,” Steven said, but obediently kept his eyes on Andrew’s, still moving him in gentle one-two-threes. “I mean, if I don’t look at them, how will I see that I don’t step on my partner’s toes?”

“You gotta go by feel,” Andrew said, with more confidence than he actually felt. His throat was dry, so he cleared it. “And trust your partner. You’re not going to step on any toes.”

“Promise?” Steven said. “I mean it’s all right for you, with a steel-reinforced toe.”

“I promise,” Andrew laughed. “Come on, I meant what I said about trust.”

“All right,” Steven repeated, but softer this time. Andrew became suddenly and acutely aware of Steven’s hand on his waist, the steady warmth of it through the uniform. One-two-three, one-two-three.

“Ladies like it if you show a bit of confidence,” Andrew said, just to have something to say. He found his own gaze slipping down, even though Steven was steadfastly still looking at him. “The idea is to show them a good time.”

“Sure,” Steven said, and Andrew thought Steven’s grip on his hand tightened just a little bit. “You having a good time, Andrew?”

Despite himself, Andrew gave a laugh. He forced himself to look Steven in the eyes again, and found that Steven was smiling, just a small, shy smile that made something good turn over in Andrew’s stomach.

“You know what?” Andrew said and closed the little gap between them with one step. “I think I am.”

Steven laughed, and it was a wash of warm air over Andrew’s face that made him smile.

“You think you’re ready to twirl me out?” Andrew said after a moment. Steven’s face turned somber, serious, and he nodded. _If he treats his other dance partners with half as much care and attention as he does me, he’ll have no trouble at all,_ Andrew thought but didn’t say.

Later that night, when Andrew dropped into his bunk and turned the evening over in his head, he had to land on the fact that he liked Steven a whole lot. Andrew had gone out with enough girls to recognize the butterflies in his stomach, the dry mouth, the whole deal. His uncle, up in San Francisco, lived with a man, and while Andrew’s mother talked about her brother warmly, his father had never mentioned him and sometimes walked out of the room if the topic came up. Andrew wasn’t stupid, but he also knew there were bigger things to worry about at this point in time.

* * *

**ii.**

* * *

The big thing to worry about became, inevitably, the only thing to worry about.

“We got our orders,” Andrew said and brought the lighter to his cigarette, crumpling the cigarette pack as he shoved it back in his pocket. He had no idea what Steven had used as an excuse to steal away and meet him by their spot in the falling dusk, but there he was, dependable as clockwork, leaned against the wall just like Andrew. “We’re shipping out by the end of the week.”

“My platoon is shipping out tomorrow,” Steven said quietly, and Andrew’s stomach dropped into his boots. It wasn’t just Steven telling him, it was the way he said it, with a timbre to his voice that hinted at anguish. Andrew took a long drag of the cigarette and breathed out the smoke.

“You’ll be all right,” he said, willing his words to prove true. Steven sniffed and pulled his hand across his eyes before he crossed his arms.

“I don’t know about that,” he said with a breath of laughter completely devoid of happiness. “I feel like losing the symbol of God’s protection on the eve of shipping out is a pretty bad omen.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Andrew said, and his mother would cuff him around the ears if she heard him talking like that, but months and months in a military boot camp tended to rub off on you. Steven glanced at him, and Andrew’s heart clenched when he saw that his eyes were lined with red.

“My cross,” Steven said, and his hand came up to his throat, his palm flattening against his collarbones. “Someone took it.”

Andrew pushed out from the wall and straightened up. “What do you mean, took it? Can’t you get it back?”

Steven shook his head, closing his hand around the collar of his uniform. “They made pretty sure I’ll never see it again. And it’s... it wasn’t like it was an expensive piece of jewelry or anything. They were just- having fun, I suppose.”

“Who was it?” Andrew said, an anger rising inside him like a fire stoked by gasoline, and he plucked the cigarette from his mouth. Steven seemed to be able to smell the fuel, because he put a placating hand on Andrew’s arm and said:

“Nothing to get up in arms about, Andrew. It’s fine, it just... It threw me for a loop, that’s all.”

“You oughta have them court-martialed,” Andrew said, scowling and rolling the cigarette between his fingers. Steven shook his head and tightened his fingers on the sleeve of Andrew’s uniform before he let his hand slip off.

“You’re the one that’ll get court-martialed if you start a fight about something stupid like this.”

“Not stupid,” Andrew argued and flicked the cigarette to the ground before it burned his fingertips. “It’s important to you, and that’s all that matters. Look-”

Andrew turned out his shirt collar and dug with blunt fingers at the nape of his neck until he found the clasp and undid it. The cross tangled in his dog tags before he could pull it out and present it to Steven, the silver glinting in the sun. Steven blinked, wide-eyed, and kept looking from the necklace to Andrew and back again.

“My mom told me to wear this,” Andrew said, feeling oddly breathless, “but I’m not much of a Christian, truth be told. I think you’ll make much better use of it.”

“I couldn’t, Andrew-” Steven began, but Andrew didn’t relent.

“I want you to have it.”

Steven closed his mouth and nodded, still wide-eyed. He glanced down and then back up again, shyly.

“Will you help me?” he said and crossed his arms, tucking his hands carefully into his armpits. “I think my hands are shaking too much to get that clasp.”

“Yeah, of course,” Andrew said and swallowed. He willed his own hands not to shake as Steven turned around and lowered his chin, to expose his neck. Andrew took a step closer and carefully reached around so the cross rested on Steven’s clavicle and still it took three tries until he managed to fasten the small clasp. Despite his best efforts, his knuckles brushed against Steven’s neck as he did so, and Andrew wondered if he imagined the shiver that ran through Steven at the touch.

“There you go,” Andrew said, and Steven turned around without stepping back. Andrew didn’t step back either, some kind of magnetic force keeping him glued to the spot as Steven looked him in the eyes.

“Andrew,” Steven said, and his eyes flickered downward. Andrew’s stomach did a somersault, and nothing in the world could have stopped him from glancing down too, his eyes catching on Steven’s mouth.

“Yeah?”

Andrew saw Steven pull at his lower lip with his teeth for a second, and he looked back up into his eyes just in time for Steven to reach up, grab Andrew by the collar and then kiss him on the mouth.

His body knew what to do before Andrew himself did. He closed his eyes, pursed his lips and sank into the kiss, his hand coming up to cup Steven’s neck, to keep them steady. Steven made a little noise in his throat and parted his lips, and Andrew’s fingers twitched against his collar. He couldn’t help but follow suit, opening his mouth just to taste him, twisting closer all the while. Their tongues meeting was a shock, and Andrew barely managed to suppress the moan that threatened to spill out. He pressed against Steven’s solid warmth instead, longing to tangle their legs together.

The horn signaling ten minutes to lights out echoed through the camp and was an unwelcome reminder of where they were and why. Andrew opened his eyes as Steven regretfully turned his face away, their mouths sliding apart in an agonizing drag. His hand was still clutching Andrew’s collar, and Andrew’s hand was still at his neck.

“Thank you,” Steven said, his eyes wide and earnest, and his other hand came up to the cross around his throat. “I wish I could give you something in return.”

“You just did,” Andrew said with a smile, letting his thumb stroke Steven’s jaw just once before he leaned away. Steven smiled too, a fetching blush coloring his cheeks  as he cast his eyes down.

“See you on the other side then, Ilnyckyj,” he said, and Andrew had to swallow around the lump that sprung up in his throat.

“Yeah. See you.”

* * *

**iii.**

* * *

_Dear Andrew_

_I hope you don’t think this too forward of me, but if time permits, I would like to hear from you. I know that circumstance may have had a hand in the making of our friendship, but I did like to talk to you and I would hate for our talks to stop just because we happen to be on opposite sides of Europe. How is Europe treating you by the way?  Have you been here before? I haven’t, which is a shame, I think. You said your family hails from Eastern Europe, do you think you’ll get to go there? It’s lovely here where I am - aside from, well, the circumstance - but I would like to come here again, after. I don’t know that I’ll have the chance though. Working as a chemist won’t make me a billionaire, exactly._

_Your friend_

_Steven Lim_

* * *

_Dear Steven_

_I was very glad to receive your letter. Circumstance may have made us friends, but I’m very glad that you want to keep up our talks - and I’ll do my very best to help. To tell you the truth, the war has been quite uneventful for me so far, but I suppose I ought to count myself lucky. I haven’t been to Europe before either, and I doubt whether we’ll get to go east of Germany. That’s Stalin’s domain, as far as I understand. A pity, but what can you do?_

_At least you have a plan - get your chemist’s degree, and who knows, maybe you’ll go to work for some big chemical company that’s going to send you overseas to settle contracts. Then you’ll get to see Europe, and more besides._

_Your friend, gladly_

_Andrew Ilnyckyj_

* * *

“Mail for you, Ilnyckyj,” Fulmer said brightly as Andrew stepped inside and waved an envelope in the air, lording his commissary duties over the rest of the guys with a cheerfulness that almost made it hard to resent him. Almost.

“Give it here!” Andrew snapped and reach out to rip it from Fulmer’s hand. Something must have come across as too desperate, because Lee perked up instantly where he was leisurely chewing the end of his burnt-out cigarette, well aware that his next ration of smokes was a week out.

“What, you afraid we’re going to read what your girl back home sends you?” Lee asked and straightened up from his slouch against the counter. Fulmer on the other hand leaned across it and batted his eyelashes at Andrew, who scowled at the both of them. “Level with us, Ilnyckyj. She attach a nude picture?”

“There’s no girl back home,” Andrew said, and realized a beat too late that protesting too much would make them more convinced that he was hiding something. Lee’s face split into a wolfish grin and Andrew rolled his eyes. He looked at the envelope, desperately searching for the sender’s information, and huffing out a breath of relief when he found it. “It’s just a friend I made back at boot camp, all right? It’s good to know he’s still alive.”

“Aw, that’s nice,” Fulmer said, almost despite himself. Lee huffed and resumed chewing at his cigarette.

“You’d tell us if you got a nude picture though, right?” Lee called after Andrew as he left the commissary, and Andrew threw the middle finger at him over his shoulder. He didn’t make it many steps down the street in the bombed-out Dutch town though, before he ripped the envelope open.

_Dear Andrew_

_I won’t lie, it’s a weight off my chest, to hear from you! I know it might be silly or superstitious of me, but it feels as though I’ve robbed you of protection when- well, you gave it to me. I know I certainly can’t blame circumstance for that one, that was all me. And I know you won’t hold it against me but I can’t help but worry some. Whether or not we can pick up after all this is over, you know?_

_Sure, I can dream about a cushy job after my degree, but like as not, I’ll get some barely decent position where I can put food on the table for myself and- I suppose I’ve always pictured a family, but less and less now. It’s difficult to imagine here, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing, necessarily. And to tell_ _you_ _the truth - right now, I’d love to be back home and never leave. What about you? Do you have someone waiting for you at home?_

_Your friend,_

_Steven L._

_PS: If you do go to Eastern Europe, give Stalin a good, left hook from me. You’re good at boxing, aren’t you?_

Andrew trailed his fingertips over Steven’s name and the postscript, allowing himself a private smile before he folded the letter up and stuck it in his breast pocket for safekeeping. He set off to find some paper of his own, and had come so far as to hunker down on his cot, paper balanced on a rickety little table and the pen ready, before he realized he hadn’t the faintest idea of what to say.

_Steven,_  he began uncertainly.

_I hope this letter receives you better than it leaves me - would that I’d kept my mouth shut and not complained about the war. Equally superstitious of me I suppose, but worry not, I’m right as rain. As for home - no, I don’t have “someone waiting for me” - I would have told you if that was the case. I don’t suppose I’ll ever land a cushy job for myself either, but you don’t think we could throw our lot together for a while? Things will no doubt be different, but still._

_Is your post-script a little jab at Communism? I’m fairly sure I never told or showed you about my boxing. Or did I, and you turned my head so much that I forgot how loose-lipped I’ve been? You do, though. Turn my head I mean, and I’m sure I made a fool of myself, in giving you my cross. I don’t regret it though, none of it._

_Your dear friend_

_Andrew I._

Andrew rested the pen against the paper for a moment too long, debating whether or not his sign-off was too forward, and the blot spread to far as too almost obliterate the last initial. He cursed and lifted the pen from the paper, worrying his lower lip with his teeth for a second before he added:

_PS: I only hope you don’t, either._

* * *

Waiting for a reply was nerve-wracking, which Andrew thought was pretty funny, given that he was in literal mortal peril half the time. But such were the affairs of the heart, he supposed.

* * *

_Dear Andrew_

_I’m not much of a writer, but I want you to know that I think of you every time I touch the cross around my neck. I can never thank you enough; you will never know how much it means to me. And I know what you said back at the camp, but I still feel I must repay you somehow, but I don’t know how. Until I figure it out, I’ll keep sending you letters - sorry for the uneven lines, I’m writing this as we ride to our next destination, and it’s only because I’m jammed in between others, packed as sardines on this truck, that I haven’t been shucked entirely off -._

_I don’t regret anything either. I’m glad you caught my joke about Communism - and don’t think I didn’t notice your boxing pun. Somehow, your humor is even worse in written form._

_I met someone by the name of Adam Bianchi. He says he knows you - you can’t imagine my delight in hearing this. I immediately started to question him about you, but, as I’m sure you know, Adam is tight-lipped by nature, and he gave me the strangest look when I expressed interest in you. So you can relax- I’ve gained barely anything from him besides that you used to box!  He’s documenting the war, carrying a camera instead of a rifle, and if you think that would keep him out of the worst of it, you’d be wrong - I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to pull him down into a foxhole to save him from getting his fool head blown off, because he was busy taking a shot, and not even the kind that takes down the enemy!_

_I’m rambling, and I’m almost out of paper as I have to write my family too! I can’t tell you where we are, they would just black it out, but I’m as safe as can be, considering. I hope you are too, God bless & keep you. _

_I remain your friend_

_Steven L._

* * *

_Dear Steven,_

_Thank you for your letter. It’s good to hear from you again, and tell Adam hi from me and punch him in the arm if you can. He deserves it if he can’t keep his fucking head down, if you’ll excuse my French. You owe me nothing, it was a gift freely given and_ ~~just knowing that you~~  I’m glad you’re safe.

_If you’re not much of a writer, then I’m an analphabet. This is a sorry excuse for a letter, but I can tell you that I am as safe as can be, too. I made sergeant, but only because our last sergeant bit the dust and there was no one else to replace him. I don’t want to bore you with the details of army life - the food is bad, the company worse._

Sometimes I think I can still feel my lips tingle, Andrew thought but didn’t write.

_I miss dancing. Hope to hear from you soon_

_~~Your friend~~ _Yours sincerely_ _

__

_Andrew I._

_PS: God bless you too, not that you should need it._

* * *

“She must have a great rack, for you to make a grab like that,” Lee said conversationally, the next time Andrew snatched the letter out of Fulmer’s hand.

“What- no she doesn’t,” Andrew said distractedly, already ripping the envelope open. “I mean there’s no girl, get your goddamn mind out of the gutter, Lee!”

_Dearest Andrew_

_Thank you so much for your letter! It’s always so good to hear from you, even Adam thinks so. Congratulations on your promotion - or at least I think congratulations are in order. Stay safe in any case._

_I have to tell you, I miss dancing too, although I wasn’t any good at it. You helped me get so much better.  I hope we can meet again soon, so you can show me the ropes again. Then you could take a smoking break and I would join you outside._

Andrew didn’t get farther than that before he had to break off and take a deep breath. If Steven was saying what Andrew though he was saying - this wasn’t something he ought to be reading in company. Not that there was any goddamn privacy anywhere in the army.

_Army life is much the same here, though Adam is good company when he doesn’t disappear into his portable darkroom. He refuses to let me in, for fear that I’d mess it all up, which I probably would.  I have to keep this short, we have to move out soon - but I had to write you, I’m sure you understand. I hope you understand. I keep you in my prayers every night._

_Yours, sincerely_

_Steven L._

* * *

To Andrew’s dismay, it took him too long, almost two weeks, before he had a moment to write back. He did so in the billet he shared with five other guys on leave, most of them asleep, to the light of a petrol lamp with the blackout curtains firmly drawn over the windows. He hesitated several times, his heart jumping up his throat as he signed off. He sealed the envelope with unsteady fingers, hoping that Steven would be able to read between the lines, and that he would want to.

_Dear Steven._

_I can’t wait for this war to be over, I’d ~~lo~~ like to, as you say, show you the ropes again, even though I’m not exactly a regular dancer. And anyway, you’re a natural. You blew me out of the water already. _

_I think I have your prayers to thank that I’ve made it this far - not to worry, but there’s been some close calls that just might make me believe in God a little bit more. I’m safely on leave and I suppose it’s too much to ask that the war will end before we’re sent back. Maybe you could put in a good word with Him._

_Sorry this took so long to write. I do understand you, or at least I want to. I don’t pray much myself, but I keep you in my thoughts at least_ _, always._

_Yours, forever_

_Andrew_

* * *

_Dear Steven_

_It’s been almost a month since I last wrote and I haven’t heard from you. It didn’t get returned to sender, so you’re not dead at least. I hope you’re not in too much trouble, and if I wrote something stupid, I hope you won’t hold it against me. I’m sorry. I’ll give up both dancing and smoking if it sees us through this in one piece._

_Your friend_

_Andrew I._

* * *

_Dear Andrew,_

_Forgive me, I never received the first letter you sent, so I can’t know if you wrote something stupid, but I can’t imagine you did, either! I wouldn’t hold it against you in any case, I write a lot of stupid things myself, as you can plainly see. I was so glad to hear from you again, I’d already started to worry._

_We_ _were_ _in some trouble though, cut off from supplies for almost the entire month. That’s probably why I never got it, I’m sorry. I pray that we do see it through in one piece without you having to give up dancing. It would be such a pity; We’re fighting this war to preserve things like dancing and having fun, aren’t we?_

_Anyway, after that month, we got some leave in Paris - Paris! Can you imagine, Andrew? I haven’t the words to describe it. But I found something in a beautiful little shop, and I thought of you, so I bought it. I’m sorry that the engraved initials don’t quite match yours, but consider it something to remember me by. A thanks for your gift, maybe. So you see you don’t have to stop smoking on my account._

_Yours,_

_Steven_

Andrew smiled as he tracked the engraving on the silver cigarette case that Steven’s letter had been attached to. A. L. the initials read, and in a way it was fitting. In all the letters he’d written Steven, he’d never mentioned that he’d already kicked the smoking habit to trade his rationed cigarettes for soap and razorblades and gum, and he was glad he hadn’t. Otherwise Steven might not have gotten this for him. The case was beautiful, and Andrew slipped it into the breast pocket, along with the letters he’d read time and time again, before he leaned his full weight against the railing on the ocean liner. A hop and a skip and they’d get to relax in England for a while. The breeze felt good against his face.


	2. Part II

* * *

**iv.**

* * *

“We ought to go,” Steven told Adam, and Adam glanced at him over the rim of his glasses. It was strange to hear birdsong in this English park, Steven thought. There hadn’t been much of that in the Italian countryside, pockmarked by artillery.

“I don’t know,” Adam said slowly. Steven shared his apprehensions, but he still kicked him in the leg as they walked. He wanted to keep moving and keep busy; the habit of staying alert was a hard one to kick, even on leave. Besides, Steven still had an unfinished letter to his little sister to write and he didn’t want to get back to it just yet. What to write, when he didn’t want her to know what his life was like? He could write to her about this leave, but first he’d have to do something worth writing about.

“Oh, come on. There’ll be drinks. What are we going to do, just hang around and do nothing?” Steven gestured to the park, encompassing the falling dusk and the few couples out on an evening stroll, eyeing the two soldiers in US uniforms as they walked instinctually in step. Steven didn’t think any of his consternations were visible on his face, but still Adam looked at him for a moment and then shrugged, shifting the camera that hung around his neck.

“All right,” he said, and Steven smiled, It’d do Adam good, he thought, do the both of them good, to get outside their heads a little.

Having men from several different US Army battalions on leave in the same place tended to have tensions running high, and that was probably why they put on the big dance in the town hall, to let off some steam. Everyone not on essential duties attended, or at least that was what it felt like; the local girls, Red Cross nurses, and USO showgirls mingling merrily with uniformed men happy to lavish them with attention. As they entered, Adam bumped Steven’s elbow to signal that he was going to find them some refreshments, and Steven nodded his understanding and stayed put by the door, so as to not lose him in the crowd

More out of instinct than any real hope, Steven swept his eyes across the sea of people, looking for a pair of green eyes and a set of crooked teeth he kept fresh in his mind every time he gripped the cross around his neck. He hadn’t heard from Andrew in almost a month, and Steven thought he could understand the current of short desperation in the last missive he’d received from him, feeling the same effects himself. Waiting was hell, but it didn’t mean anything because he understood that correspondence in an active war zone was sporadic at best. It couldn’t mean anything, because that would mean -

When Steven did catch sight of him, standing in the sea of people and clad in the service uniform like everybody else, his mouth dropped open before he quickly snapped it shut again.  When Andrew met his gaze, he locked eyes with Steven like he, too, had been looking, and Steven took a half-step toward him before he thought of Adam and how he better stay by the wall so he could find him again.

Andrew had already left his companions and was weaving through the throng, and what Steven noticed immediately when he drew closer was how red Andrew’s lips were, and how he was a little shorter than Steven remembered. But that low voice was the same, and it sent the same shiver down Steven's spine as it did almost a year back, when Andrew grinned and said, "Hey soldier, come here often?"

A surprised burst of laughter escaped Steven even as he reached out to touch Andrew’s arm, just to make sure he was real. He was, warm under Steven’s palm, the fabric of his shirt rough against the calluses that had sprung up on his hands, and Steven was surprised that it was only his third thought, to thank the Lord that he got to see him again.

“It’s good to see you, Steven,” Andrew said warmly, unintentionally echoing Steven’s thoughts, and Steven felt tongue-tied with how much he wanted Andrew to know the relief he felt. Steven reached out, but even if Andrew returned the hug he was stiff and the embrace felt strange for it, too formal for what Steven wanted, and the sound of rustling uniforms grating on his ears.

“You too,” was all Steven managed in the end, but Andrew was smiling again as he leaned away, a smile that softened his solid features and made his eyes glitter. It gave Steven hope and he laughed, because it was the only thing he could do. They still had their hands on each other.

“Oh,” Andrew said then, his eyes catching on the stripes on Steven’s collar. “You made sergeant too. You never told me.”

“It happened quite recently,” Steven said and shifted away, carefully omitting the fact that he’d been passed up for promotion several times, even if he’d had guys come up to him and say they’d much rather be following his orders. It was strange, this resentment mixed with pride, and Steven couldn’t very well give voice to it.

“I hope you haven’t given up dancing,” he continued shyly, eyes slipping down to where he was still gripping Andrew’s arm. When he looked up again, he saw that Andrew was also looking at his hand, and Steven had to swallow.

“I won’t give it up,” Andrew said and looked back up too, expression somber now. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

“I would never,” Steven said, squeezing Andrew’s arm before finally letting go.

“All right then, Lim,” Andrew said, and the grin was back. He boxed Steven on the shoulder, like any of Steven’s friends would. “Will you show me what you got?”

“What, like- dancing?”

Andrew scrunched up his nose and said, “Yeah, lots of dames here who would die for you to ask them.”

“I don’t know about that,” Steven said, the laughter coming off a little nervous this time. He wasn’t particularly inclined to take someone out for a spin with Andrew looking on. That would have an air of artificial showmanship that Steven wasn’t up for. “I don’t think I’ve improved much since- well, since you taught me.”

Steven thought he saw something flit across Andrew’s expression then, but he couldn’t possibly tell what. He stuck his hands in his pockets to keep them still. 

“That’s all right,” Andrew said, and his eyes flicked to the side for a brief instant before he looked back to Steven. “Hey, I’m going out for a smoke.”

“Oh,” Steven said, the indeterminable bubble of dreadful hope deflating a bit inside him. “All right.”

Andrew threw him a look across his shoulder as he picked his way toward the exit. Steven pulled his lower lip in between his teeth and crossed his arms as he and looked around for Adam before the notion struck him like a bolt of lightning.

_ I’ll give up both dancing and smoking if it sees us through this in one piece. _

“Was that Ilnyckyj I saw?” Adam said, and Steven just about jumped out of his skin with how he hadn’t noticed him come up with a glass in each hand.

“Yeah!” Steven said, brightly. “That was- hey, look, I need to get some air. Hold on to this for me, will you?”

Steven pushed the glass back into Adam’s hand and Adam only raised his eyebrows at him before Steven turned on his heel and elbowed his way through the crowd, to get to the back door and slip out. The damp, English night air hit him like a slap in the face, and Steven drew in a bracing breath of it. It was all he could do, before someone grabbed him by the arm to pull him off the stairs and press him up against the wall.

“You came,” Andrew said, his voice so low it was barely more than a rumble, and his chest was heaving as if he’d been running. The air was loud with their combined breathing and Steven thought it was a wonder no one else could hear it.

“I did,” Steven said, felt Andrew’s hand on his shoulder like a brand and couldn’t help but drop his eyes to Andrew’s mouth. He watched it for just a second, helplessly and without meaning to, but when he looked up into Andrew’s eyes he could see the damage was already done. His eyes were dark and hooded with such intent that made Steven’s toes curl inside his boots, even though he made no move to bridge the distance between them.

Steven looked down again, to where Andrew had loosened his necktie and collar during the evening, and in a fit of bravery he lifted his hand, hooked a finger in the collar and tugged. Andrew went with it easily, and when their noses brushed it sent Steven’s heart hammering.

“I’ve been thinking about you- this- every day since,” Andrew murmured. He belied his words by dropping his arm and letting go of Steven, the soles of his boots grinding against the gravel as he shifted back.

“Me too,” Steven said, fingers still hooked in his collar. Andrew’s eyes flicked up at that, with something unguarded in the furrow between his brows that made Steven’s heart ache. He leaned in, lips parted, and saw Andrew swallow and do the same.

Steven couldn’t rightly say who kissed who then, he only knew he got lost in it pretty fast, the way Andrew fisted his shirt but kept his mouth gentle, how his own hand clenched around Andrew’s collar, desperately. Andrew’s lips were as soft as Steven remembered, the stubble a little bit more coarse, but the experience was altogether just as engaging as the first time, and Steven pulled Andrew with him as he collapsed back against the wall. He didn’t taste of smoke and nicotine this time around, and the taste of just Andrew was headier and more intoxicating by a mile, so Steven really couldn’t help but lick into the kiss. Andrew let him, opened his mouth like he’d been waiting for it.

Steven could feel Andrew brace his hands on the wall on either side of him, and when he pulled back, Steven chased his lips for a mindless moment before he caught himself and blinked his eyes open. Andrew was smiling softly at him, and Steven’s heart did a somersault at the sight, so close he could feel the warmth radiate from his face, and he unhooked his fingers from Andrew’s collar to let the palm rest against his chest

“We ought to go back in,” Steven said regretfully, realizing that he was breathing like he’d been running, too. “Adam wants to say hi.”

Andrew blinked, and he pressed his lips together for a second before he said, “All right. Yeah.”

Something was hanging in the air though, something unsaid, and Steven wet his lips. He touched Andrew's collar again before he withdrew his hand. He had a hazy memory of what Andrew’s hands felt like on his waist, and he longed desperately for it. 

“Please tell me you want to come with me at the end of the night.”

Andrew's brow knitted in a deep frown. “Steven- yes, of course, I- yeah.”

“All right, Andrew,” Steven said and smiled, willing Andrew's forehead to smooth out. It didn't quite, that small furrow staying put between his brows, but they went inside together with Andrew trailing a half-step behind Steven. It didn’t take long until they found Adam, who had abandoned the drinks to pull up his camera, capturing the soldiers on leave with a single-minded focus Steven had learned he undertook most anything. Steven turned to Andrew to share this insight when Adam lowered his camera and fixed them with a look.

“Don’t know if they want these kinds of pictures,” Adam said in that understated way of his as he lifted the camera to his face again. “Soldiers having a grand time on the government’s dime.”

Steven was about to say something in reply, still half-turned to Andrew, but was startled into silence by the flash of Adam’s camera, clearly pointed to the two of them. Andrew lowered his hand, the one he’d had gently resting against Steven’s elbow and that Steven hadn’t had the sense to appreciate until it was gone.

“Put down the camera, Bianchi,” Andrew said smoothly. “You’re on leave, same as us. Let’s go get something to drink.”

Adam rolled his eyes, but he did put the camera down and allowed Andrew to rope him into a one-armed hug and shuffle him toward the drinks table. It was strange, for Steven to witness the friendship between Andrew and Adam that clearly went back a ways, when he himself knew both of them separately and quite differently. In many ways, Steven knew Adam a lot better, had been closer with him for a longer time in circumstances that made you inseparable, but he’d never longed for Adam’s company the way he felt giddy to be with Andrew. 

In between all the letter writing though, Steven had quite forgotten what Andrew was like in person - the best word Steven could think of to describe him was steady. He was steady in the way he knocked back a drink, his expectant grin when he’d made a joke was steady and warm, as was how he smiled and touched Steven’s arm when he wanted his attention. It seemed to Steven he’d grown into himself somehow, in a way Steven couldn’t recognize in himself. Adam looked to him questioningly when Steven stayed back a step, and Steven shook himself out of it - this was neither the time or place for introspective doubts.

A man with glasses and so comically tall that he probably needed to have his uniform made specially pulled Andrew away before Adam and Steven caught up with him though, and Steven smiled and half-shrugged when Andrew threw an apologetic look over his shoulder. They’d find each other again, Steven was fairly certain.

Adam’s hands were itching to pick up his camera again, Steven recognized the look in his eyes, so he nodded at him and raised his glass, to absolve him of the duty of keeping Steven company. Adam sent him a grateful smile and stalked away, in search of the perfect shot. Steven settled back against the wall with his drink, content to nurse it for the rest of the night.

But Steven was a restless person by nature, and he soon found his gaze traveling, searching for anything that his mind could focus on. He caught the eye of a Red Cross nurse - he knew her, recognized her from the first aid station, or he wouldn’t have known her profession. She was dressed in a neat, green dress and had her hair curled in what Steven assumed was in fashion. She smiled at him and he smiled back, almost by reflex, and with a start Steven realized it was an invitation on her part. He had but a moment to contemplate before the chance would be gone, and so Steven straightened up and set his glass down. He approached her easily enough, giving her the chance to slip away if she changed her mind, but she held fast until he was within range and she could hold out her hand.

“I’m Frances,” she said, and Steven could tell she was British but couldn’t pinpoint the dialect any more than that. He grasped her hand and replied,

“I’m Steven, nice to meet you. I’m sorry- did you want a drink?”

She laughed, her teeth gleaming white in the warm light of the dance hall. She wasn’t wearing lipstick, but Steven had heard that it was hard to come by luxuries like that now.

“No thank you,” she said and took her hand back, settled it demurely on her stomach. “I was angling for a dance, actually.”

“Oh! Well, then you’re in luck,” Steven said with more bravado than he felt. “Miss Frances, may I have this dance?”

Frances acquiesced with a small smile and a nod, and she set her hand in Steven’s open palm.

It had never been Steven’s choice to be here - in the army, in Europe - but he liked making these small choices for himself. He’d decided to make the best of it, whatever might come his way, and now he figured he’d put into good use what he’d learned. Carefully, he led her to the dancefloor, where the band had just strung up a new song.

“I have to admit, I haven’t had much practice at this,” he said when he settled his other hand on her back, just beneath her shoulder blades and determined not to look at their feet. “And I don’t say this so you’ll reassure me, I’m saying to so you know to be careful where you step.”

“Thank you for the warning,” Frances said seriously, but then cracked up in a smile. “You’re doing just fine as far as I can tell, Sergeant Lim.”

“Please, call me Steven,” Steven said and let the music dictate his one-two-threes, trying not to think too much about it. Her eyes were green- or perhaps blue, it was difficult to determine. “I’m not a sergeant right now.”

“Alright,” she said, her expression sobering somewhat. “You’ve been out in the field long, then?”

“Too long,” Steven said without thinking. He grimaced and corrected himself, “Long enough. But there’s still work to be done, so I guess I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s valiant of you,” Frances said, and if she thought Steven’s dancing clumsy, she didn’t let on.

“You think so?” Steven said and thought about Italy, and about the determination he’d seen on every Englishman’s face since he’d set foot here. “I think it’s our duty to help. You’re the ones who have to live here- that’s valiant.”

Frances looked down, a flattering flutter of eyelashes, but she smiled again. The music swelled, and Steven cast a glance around him - he had a sneaking suspicion he ought to twirl her out, or something to that effect, but he wasn’t quite sure how to time it right. He tried to think back to how Andrew had done it, but so much time had passed, and Frances was so different in his hands, slimmer and lighter on her feet. She seemed to sense his hesitation, because she moved in a little closer and tilted her chin up.

“You’re doing alright, Steven,” she said, lowering her voice as if she was sharing confidential information. “I’m not a fancy dancer.”

“Oh, good,” Steven said, somewhat relieved. “Neither am I.”

When the song ended, Steven drew to a halt, perhaps a bit awkwardly. Frances curtsied with a grin, and he returned it with a bow and a smile.

“Thank you Steven,” Frances said, and her hand came up to cup her elbow. “That was nice.”

A man in uniform - Steven didn’t catch his name tag, but he was also wearing sergeant’s stripes - stepped in and caught her attention, asking for a dance. Frances sent Steven a wide-eyed look, but he only smiled and nodded at her to accept. It was only fair, he thought. If she could help some other fellow be at ease with dancing, he’d be happy to let her go. 

Besides, Steven’s attention was captured by someone else too - Andrew, who had apparently left his tall friend behind to find Steven again. He looked none the worse for wear, Steven thought, even if there might be something wary in his eyes when Steven approached him. When they joined up they started walking side by side as if with a goal in mind, but to Steven they were aimless.

“Hey,” Andrew said, eyes flicking out to Frances on the dancefloor with her new partner in an unspoken question. Steven smiled and shrugged with one shoulder.

“Frances offered to let me ask her to dance,” he said. “Figured I’d take my shot. How was my form?”

Andrew gave a chuckle and nudged Steven with his elbow, in the privacy afforded by a crowd. “Couldn’t tell you, buddy,” he said with a small shake of his head. “I didn’t catch sight of you ‘til it was over, I thought you weren’t up for dancing.”

“Oh, that’s-” Steven said and broke himself off for a moment. “I didn’t mean- I mean I did come here to dance.”

Andrew’s hazel eyes flicked up at him, and for a moment he seemed all but shy. Steven blinked; Andrew was many things, but shy wasn’t one of them. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you have to explain yourself,” Andrew said with a low voice. “And even less to make you feel like you can’t dance with whoever you want to dance with.”

“I just wasn’t expecting to actually find you here,” Steven said and nudged his elbow back, and to his relief, Andrew smiled again.

“Hope I didn’t disappoint you, then,” Andrew murmured back, and Steven frowned. He wanted to make the best of every situation, even the ones he hadn’t chosen, and this was one he had chosen and still seemed to mess up. He swallowed and touched the back of Andrew’s hand, so fleetingly that it might have been a mistake if it weren’t for his words.

“Never, Andrew.”

* * *

As the evening wound to a close, Adam excused himself to go hole up in his darkroom before going to bed. He left Steven and Andrew standing outside the dance hall side by side, their breaths escaping up into the night air in clouds that made Steven think of rifle smoke.

“I’m billeted not far from here,” Andrew said, his voice barely above a murmur. He had his hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched and seemed far more guarded than Steven remembered. He supposed it wasn’t fair of him to keep comparing Andrew to the man he’d known before- this. He must have changed himself, too. “You can crash there if you want. They won’t hold after us.”

“No, they won’t,” Steven agreed and grazed his elbow against Andrew’s side to signal his assent. Andrew’s eyes flicked up to his, and he gave Steven a small, private smile that made a knot of worry in Steven’s chest loosen up a bit. Falling into step with him felt natural, and they talked easily with lowered voices as they walked, so as to not disturb the English village any more than the invasion of several Yankee battalions already had. Andrew showed Steven up a small garden path to a house that seemed all but abandoned, and produced a key from his pocket, but not before he’d pulled his hat off his head

“The family went to the countryside,” Andrew explained and twisted the hat in his hands. “Visiting relatives, I think. How about a nightcap?” 

“How about it,” Steven said with a smile, and Andrew’s teeth glinted in an answering grin as he he opened the door, fumbling a little with the doorknob. Steven slipped inside, Andrew carefully closed the door behind them, and Steven’s mouth was suddenly dry as dust while his palms were sweaty against the material of his uniform where he had his hands pressed to his thighs.

They left their caps on the hatstand by the door, and Andrew picked his way past Steven in the dark, into the kitchen where he found a petroleum lamp on the table and he managed to spill a small circle of light on the tabletop after three strikes on the matchbox. Steven leaned his hip against the kitchen table, still inexplicably nervous.

He watched, quietly, as Andrew pulled a bottle from a cupboard together with two glasses, placed the glasses on the table with an inch of space between them and splashed a measure of something amber in each. Andrew then set the bottle down and pushed one of the glasses toward Steven with his knuckles before he picked up the other one.

“I usually don’t drink much,” Steven confessed as he picked up the glass and watched the liquid shimmer as the surface wobbled. Andrew opened his mouth, eyebrows raised, but Steven put the glass to his lips and tipped his head back before Andrew could question it. He screwed his eyes shut against the burn that spread down his throat and suppressed a cough by putting his wrist to his mouth. He heard the clink of Andrew's glass against his teeth, the sound of him swallowing.

“Not the best vintage, I’ll admit,” Andrew said, and there was a strained quality to his voice that suggested he’d been similarly affected. Steven cracked his eyes open to Andrew looking forlornly at his empty glass, like he was considering if a second portion was worth the trouble. He seemed to sense Steven’s eyes on him because he looked up then, and his mouth quirked into a half-smile.

“It- this can be only a nightcap, if you want.”

Steven considered his words. He thought his own wants were relatively straightforward - he’d been living with them for months, mulling them over while he thumbed the letters he’d received, but as for Andrew - Andrew’s wants were as inscrutable to Steven as his had to be to Andrew, so Steven set the glass down and reached over to touch the back of his hand.

“I don’t want this to only be a nightcap,” Steven said. “But- you can tell me what you want, too.”

Andrew’s gaze wavered, flicking over Steven’s face and body before returning to Steven’s eyes.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he said thickly, but then he stepped into Steven’s space, his hand coming up to cup his elbow. Steven smiled, the giddy feeling gathering in the pit of his stomach threatening to overtake him.

“It feels like a good idea,” he told Andrew in confidence, hooking his arm under Andrew’s and resting his hand against his upper back; like an intimate imitation of a dance partner’s hold. Steven then grabbed Andrew’s other hand and brought it up to his face, to cradle his cheek, so that his wants would be as transparent as possible. The corners of Andrew’s eyes creased in a smile; Steven could tell, this close.

“Hey,” Steven said, and immediately, as Andrew stilled, the crow’s feet disappeared. Steven missed them acutely, but pressed on, “Say that we do make it out in one piece-”

“You better,” Andrew interjected, like he couldn’t stop himself.

“Say that we do,” Steven repeated, determined not to get off track. “We’ll find each other, right?”

“As long as I have any say in it, yeah,” Andrew said earnestly, and something in Steven relaxed at his immediate conviction. In this, at least, they were on the same page.

They kissed for a third time, and the kiss dissolved into several small kisses so that Steven lost count. They were tangled together in the kitchen, swaying back and forth until the petroleum lamp flickered. Steven felt the both of them stumble with how close they were, and to stay upright he set his foot in between Andrew’s, inadvertently pressing his thigh to Andrew’s groin.

Steven felt Andrew’s grip on him tighten for a brief second, and then Andrew broke off the kiss.

“I want- can I take you to bed?” he said, and his voice was still strained.

“Yes,” Steven said, because he’d never been one for half-measures. Somehow they made it up the stairs, hand in hand, and Andrew closed yet another door behind them, wedging a chair under the handle like it was the natural thing to do. Steven swallowed, suddenly too aware of the space between them, both physical and metaphorical. For all the letters they’d exchanged, for all the kisses, how much did it really matter that Steven wanted to know him?

Andrew bridged that space between them without a second thought, slotting right back into Steven’s arms like he’d never been gone. Steven thought he might finally understand why the others kept going on and on about women, if, for them, being with women held half the exhilarating attraction Steven felt with Andrew. Andrew licked his lips and looked like he wanted to say something, but Steven only kissed him again, needed to feel his lips and wanting so much to get out of his own head and to get Andrew out of his. Andrew kissed him back, but didn’t move his hands from where they rested atop Steven’s arms, implicitly encouraging but never guiding.

“Hey,” Andrew said, between kisses. “We don’t- I’m not expecting anything, you know.”

Steven breathed in and leaned back without letting Andrew go. Andrew blinked, his eyelashes a black fan against his cheek, and his mouth was half-open.

“I’m not- I don’t even know what to expect,” Steven said. Andrew’s gaze flickered as he pulled his lower lip in between his teeth for a moment.

“What do you want?” he asked then, softly, eyes dark as he looked up to meet Steven’s gaze. He shifted his hand to run a thumb gently along Steven’s jaw, and Steven swallowed.  He could still remember seeing Andrew for the first time, half-naked and drenched on the ground, and Steven had the shameful, burning desire to fit that image to what he felt under his hands.

So Steven pulled Andrew’s shirt out of his pants to get his hand on the hot skin beneath, and Andrew drew in a sharp breath. His stomach jumped under Steven’s fingers, and Steven stilled, heart in his throat. But Andrew pressed closer to cup Steven’s face with both hands and touched his lips with his open mouth, which in turn made Steven open his mouth to tangle their tongues together. He worked Andrew’s shirt open, blindly,  and yanked off the tie before he pushed the shirt off his shoulders to roam his hands all over Andrew’s back, molding his fingers along ribs that seemed too pronounced.

“You said you wanted to take me to bed,” Steven mumbled against Andrew’s lips, feeling as if he might burst if Andrew didn’t. Andrew made an anguished sound in his throat, a breathless groan that made Steven’s spine tingle, and then he slid his hands down from Steven’s face, to start working on the buttons on his uniform shirt in turn. A shiver ran over Steven when Andrew pulled his shirt off and the cool air hit his back, but he only pressed in closer, seeking heat in the way his skin slid over Andrew’s. Andrew’s hands were back on Steven’s elbows, but this time he was guiding, pushing Steven back step by step until he hit the bed and his knees folded to land him on the edge of the bed. He tried to pull Andrew down with him, but Andrew forewent the bed to sink to his knees on the floor, right there between Steven’s legs, and Steven forgot how to breathe for a second.

Instead of going for Steven’s belt, Andrew lifted Steven’s left foot  and put it against his thigh so he could loosen the boot laces. Steven curled his hands into fists in the bedding, could feel his own pulse in his fingers, as he watched Andrew pull off first one boot with the sock following along, and then the other, before he put them both neatly aside. He looked up then, found Steven’s gaze on him, and as near as Steven could tell in the dark room, Andrew blushed. Steven was hard, had been ever since they’d been kissing downstairs, but at this point even the loose-fitting army pants grew uncomfortable and he pressed his lips shut tight, to keep from doing something embarrassing, like give an unprovoked moan.

He squirmed as Andrew’s hands slid up his calves but they landed harmlessly on his knees and didn’t budge. Steven was breathing too quickly, feeling almost airheaded, and he reached for Andrew to yank him up and closer, to push him down on the bedside as well. He pulled Andrew’s foot into his lap and attacked his left boot in turn, with an excitement that made Andrew chuckle and bend down to help. He dutifully started to work on his other boot when Steven pushed at his hand, and soon his feet were as bare as Steven’s, toes flexing as he stretched them.

Andrew playfully jostled Steven’s knee before he set his foot down on the floor, and they looked at each other for a moment, shirtless and barefoot and angled toward each other on the bed. Then Andrew’s eyes dropped from Steven’s, and he reached out a tentative hand to untangle the silver cross from the dog tags around Steven’s neck, and lifted it up in the palm of his hand. It glinted in the sliver of moonlight falling in from the window through the blackout curtain that wasn’t quite pulled tight, and Steven saw Andrew smile before he looked up again.

“It suits you,” he said simply. Steven breathed in through his nose and shifted on the bed, surging up toward Andrew to catch him in a kiss and fumbling for his pants all the while. Andrew made a surprised noise against Steven’s lips and almost toppled over, catching himself by putting one hand down on the bedspread and the other on Steven’s back, letting go of the cross. Through some miracle, Steven got Andrew’s belt and fly open quickly, and Andrew sucked in a breath through his teeth when Steven pushed his hand not down but against the lining of his underwear.

“I’m,” Steven said, surprised at how breathless he sounded, and pushed his forehead against Andrew’s to look down between them. “I don’t want to overstep.”

“You’re not,” Andrew said, sounding just as breathless, and brought his hand up Steven’s back to his neck, cupping it and sweeping his thumb across Steven’s cheek. Steven smiled and ran his free hand along the curve of Andrew’s bent arm, feeling the smooth skin and solid muscle beneath. His thumb caught on something, the calluses scraping over a small, uneven dip in the soft skin of Andrew’s inner arm.

“What’s this?” Steven asked and pushed away enough to look at it. He found himself tracing the outlines of a scar that bisected Andrew’s triceps and was so newly-healed that it was probably still pink in good light. It was no more than two inches long and not even half an inch wide, but it looked deep. “You never wrote to tell me you’d gotten hurt.”

Andrew glanced down, like he needed to see it to remember what it was, and he shrugged with one shoulder.

“It won’t get me a Purple Heart, that’s for sure,” he said and his lips quirked into a self-deprecating smile. “I was just careless.”

“What do you mean?” Steven prompted and inadvertently pressed his thumb into the skin. It was evidently still a bit sore, because Andrew shivered and Steven quickly removed his hand and tried to apologize.

“No, it’s okay,” Andrew said and caught Steven’s hand. “I didn’t write you about it because, well, it’s embarrassing.”

“Well, now you have to tell me,” Steven said and dragged his other hand up Andrew’s chest, to crowd him and press him back so he had nowhere to go.

“I don’t see why,” Andrew said teasingly and pulled Steven’s hand to his chest as well. Steven slipped the hand out of his grasp and put it down his underwear.

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t,” he replied and watched Andrew look down at his arm, disappearing into his open pants. Touching someone else was decidedly different than touching yourself, Steven decided, but he figured the mechanics couldn’t vary that much so he squeezed, gently, and felt Andrew fill out his hand. 

“This feels like coercion,” Andrew said with a rough quality to his voice that hadn’t been there before. The bedclothes rustled when Steven shifted to get a better angle.

“Do you want me to stop?” Steven asked. Andrew’s stomach was quivering against his arm and Steven liked the way his breathing was speeding up.

“No,” was Andrew’s soft reply, and Steven leaned forward to kiss him. Andrew sighed into his mouth and cupped his face with both hands, his gentle touch offset by how his body tensed under Steven’s. Steven kept touching him and they kept kissing, until Andrew made a noise and shifted, taking his hands off Steven to shimmy out of his pants entirely. He sat back, mouth open and chest heaving, and splayed his legs so that Steven had no choice but to lean back in, get his hand on him again. While Andrew braced one hand on the bed behind him, the other tangled in Steven’s hair, and Andrew pressed his mouth to Steven’s cheek and mumbled, “We were taking our first shower in damn near a month.”

“Oh,” Steven said, his nose pressed into the lovely spot where Andrew’s neck met his shoulder, inhaling his scent and considering pressing a kiss to his throat. “What?”

“The scar,” Andrew clarified, his fingers twitching against his scalp as Steven’s hand stuttered for a moment. “We were all in there, this big, damn shower tent outside, when someone yelled sniper.”

A shiver went down Steven’s spine that had nothing to do with the way Andrew grazed his teeth against his earlobe. He ignored it and did press that kiss to Andrew’s throat.

“I stumbled out the tent and-” Andrew’s breath hitched when Steven’s thumb caught on the head, and Steven dropped a kiss to his shoulder in apology “- and grabbed the first rifle I saw. Only someone had left the bayonet mounted on it, and in my haste to get at it, I ripped up my own arm.”

“That must have hurt,” Steven mumbled and set his teeth to the meat of Andrew’s shoulder, just because he could. Andrew groaned, and Steven felt his thighs tense where he was touching them.

“It- I didn’t even notice I was bleeding until my grip on the rifle got slippery,” Andrew gasped, and the hand that he’d been bracing himself with came up to grab at Steven’s side, aimlessly. “Fuck, Steven, I’m-”

Steven felt Andrew climax in how his entire body tensed and grew completely still, and then in how he breathed out afterward, his body relaxing with the exhalation. “Andrew,” Steven whispered, astonished that he’d elicited such a reaction, and sat back.

“Yeah,” Andrew replied with a small chuckle, and pulled up the bedcover to wipe himself off. Steven wished it wasn’t so dark - he’d like to pick out all the details of the scene but as it was he had to contend himself with the way Andrew shifted to pull down Steven’s pants, wasting no time at all in getting his hand on Steven in turn.

“I got the sniper in the end,” Andrew said, conversationally, and then he bent down to get his mouth on him. Steven was fairly certain Andrew wasn’t new at this the way Steven was, because he damn near forgot his own name, not to mention keeping quiet.  Andrew didn’t seem to mind, in fact he encouraged it, with his tongue and hands, and he seemed to like it when Steven, nearly out of his mind, tangled his fingers in his hair.

This was certainly different from touching yourself, and Steven hadn’t known you could want to crawl out of your own skin with pleasure. He sensed his own orgasm starting to gather in the pit of his stomach much too soon and tugged at Andrew’s hair in warning.

“Andrew,” he managed to say, but Andrew only hunched his shoulders stubbornly and braced his hands on Steven’s thighs, and when Steven came he swallowed it down.

Steven thought he might never catch his breath again, he was shivering so violently. But eventually he did catch his breath, with Andrew kissing his way up Steven’s stomach and then kissing the hinge where Steven’s jaw met his throat, and then pulling him against his chest. There didn’t seem to be anything to say, and Steven was content to just cling to Andrew for a while.

In an unspoken agreement some time later they both put on their underwear and crawled under the covers together. Steven had shared a bed before, but never like this, never face to face and touching the other like this, wanting to sling his legs about them.

“So you took down a sniper completely in the nude,” Steven said and ran his thumb down Andrew’s cheek. Andrew started to laugh in the middle of a yawn, producing a strange, staccato sound.

“Yeah,” he mumbled sleepily and shifted a little closer. “Just about my least favorite thing I ever did in the nude.”

* * *

**v.**

* * *

When Steven woke, it was to his legs tangled with Andrew’s and his lips tingling with soreness, not much later in the night. Steven supposed it was a nightmare that had startled him awake - he couldn’t remember any of it, but his heart was racing and a cold sweat had sprung up on his forehead. He was just glad he hadn’t thrashed about, because that would surely have woken Andrew too. As it was, Andrew’s brow was still smoothed out in sleep, lips slightly parted with his cheek resting against the pillow, and Steven took the greatest care in extricating himself without disturbing him.

Steven didn’t know this house, and it itched under his skin now, how out of his element he was. Growing up he’d always had the comfort of pushing any notion of sex to the future, after marriage, but this- this had never factored in, and even if Steven didn’t regret a thing, there was no escaping the anxious buzz that had settled in him. There was no blueprint to follow in this situation, and Steven didn’t know how to ask Andrew, either.

He remembered sensing the shape of it in Andrew’s pocket when they’d stumbled over each other in their haste to touch, so he lifted up the rumpled heap of his pants with and felt for it, pulling out the silver cigarette case after a moment’s quiet rustling. Steven ran his thumb over the engraving, remembering the little tug of excitement he’d felt, sending this to Andrew and hoping that he’d get it and understand what Steven was trying to say. It was good to know that Andrew had gotten it, but he never mentioned it, so Steven figured it held more meaning to him than to Andrew. He breathed out shakily and thumbed the clasp. He wasn’t a smoker, but there was a war on, so what the hell, right?

But when he slid the case open, he didn’t find a row of neat cigarettes like he’d expected. Instead it contained folded pieces of paper, and Steven wouldn’t have touched them if he hadn’t recognized the handwriting on them, just barely legible in the streak of moonlight through the window.

_ Dear Andrew, I hope you don’t think this too forward of me,  _ he’d written, and a glance at the date confirmed that this was the first letter he’d sent him, so long ago now. Steven realized his fingers were trembling, just a little, when he folded up the papers and stared at them in disbelief. There was another letter in there too, the one he’d signed, simply _ yours, Steven. _

He was so caught up in his thoughts that the sound of the bed creaking and the soft padding of feet on the floor didn’t register until he felt warm fingertips graze his side. Steven startled, his entire body jerking, but he stilled just as quickly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered automatically. Andrew’s hands settled on his hips, broad and warm, and Andrew was a warm weight along his back as he hooked his chin over Steven’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, sounding gravelly with sleep. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Picked up smoking or just snooping?” There was a light inflection in Andrew’s sleep-addled voice, indicating that he was joking, but still Steven flushed with embarrassment.

“Neither! I- I figured I could use a cigarette for once, but-” Steven paused and inhaled, making himself relax against Andrew. “You kept my letter.”

“I kept all of them,” Andrew murmured and turned his face to kiss Steven’s neck. It made Steven shiver, but in a good way. “Couldn’t fit all of them in there though.”

“Andrew,” Steven said and turned around, so that they were face to face and Andrew had to let go of his hips. He stayed close though, couldn’t stand the thought of letting cold air get between them. “What happens after the war?”

In a way, it was easier that it was so dark that he couldn’t quite read Andrew’s expression. He only sensed the frown and had no idea what to make of it. Andrew settled his hands back on Steven’s waist, tentative.

“I don’t know,” Andrew said carefully. “What do you want to happen?”

“I don’t know either,” Steven said helplessly. “When I was drafted I figured, oh, I’ll get back on track when it’s over. Finish college, find a girl to settle down with, you know. Thought that was what God had set out for me, but instead-”

Andrew’s hands were still on Steven’s waist, but Andrew had grown unnaturally still against him. Steven set his hands, even the one still holding the case and the letters, on his shoulders. He touched his free hand to Andrew’s jaw, cupped his face carefully.

“Instead?” Andrew prompted softly.

“I don’t think He wants me to find a girl to settle down with,” Steven said truthfully. “Not when- You turned up.”

He heard Andrew give a soft rumble of a laugh. “You don’t think He’d have something particular to say about this? Us?” His voice was light, but Steven could still pick up a weight behind the words, and he wanted to tread carefully but didn’t know how.

“I’ve beaten myself up about a lot of things that I thought He’d disapprove of,” he began, slowly. “But I always had a feeling right here -” Steven pressed the hand holding the case against his stomach, and then shifted to press it against Andrew’s chest “- when something was wrong. And I never had that with you.”

“Steven,” Andrew said, sounding almost admonishing. The lightness was entirely gone from his voice now and Steven had a fraction of a second to worry that he’d said something wrong before Andrew cupped his face too, with both hands, and kissed him on the mouth.

Steven couldn’t stop the laughter, a giddy sound that Andrew swallowed whole and then released by bowing his head and pressing his lips against Steven’s chest, above the cross. His hands slid down and came to rest on Steven’s arms.

“What about you?” Steven said, trailing his fingers down the line of Andrew’s throat, following the chain of his dog tags over his clavicle and then chest, grazing his nipple. It pebbled under his touch, which would have caught his interest if Andrew hadn’t blown out a breath against his throat just then and said:

“I joined up to have Uncle Sam pay my college tuition, so that, I guess. Other than that, I’ll just see what life has in store for me.”

“Tell you what,” Steven said, his pulse kicking up as Andrew took his hand, the one holding the cigarette case. “I could put in a good word for you at my college. We could be roommates.”

“I’d like that,” Andrew said and kissed Steven again, before they went back to bed.

* * *

**vi.**

* * *

 

_ Dear Tiffany  _

_ I’m sorry I haven’t written you earlier - we’ve been busy over here, shipping back to mainland Europe and oh, _ _ winning the war!  _ _ I’m sure you’ve heard it on the radio already, Victory in Europe, and boy does it feel good, that this will soon be over. We celebrated, of course, but you can tell mother and father that I didn’t drink more than one glass. I pray for the men in the Pacific that they’ll get to go home soon too - I’m on my way back to France, or perhaps England, together with my regiment, so that we’ll be discharged and sent home. Soon, soon! I can’t wait to see you and the rest of the family, and to eat cornflakes again. It’s silly, I know, but I’ve had the most annoying craving for cornflakes this last month, and did you know, you can’t find a single cornflake in all of Europe? All this to say that I finally get to come home. Tell the family hi from me, I won’t waste postage on another letter to the same address, and I know you’ll read this aloud to them anyway. _

_ Your loving brother _

_ Steven _

_ PS: I know you asked for details about Andrew Ilnyckyj, who I wrote to you about last. I met him at boot camp and we happened to be on the same leave - I’d like very much for you to meet him when we get back! _

_ PPS: I’m attaching a picture Adam Bianchi took of us on that leave so you’ll know what he looks like - but don’t let mother frame it. I look like a fool. _

* * *

As it turned out, getting discharged from the army was a veritable song and dance of bureaucracy, and Steven was far from the only one held up, still officially on duty but without anything to do. More than one of the guys were dishonorably discharged because they got in a fight, all that pent up energy rising to their heads. Steven wasn’t one of them, he was happy to keep his head down and wait for his turn, and even more so after being met by a grinning Andrew in the mess hall two days after arriving in France.

“There you are!” Andrew called and grabbed Steven by both shoulders. “Thank God I tracked you down before they put you on a boat back to the States!”

“Andrew!” Steven said, astonished to feel the weight of Andrew’s hands on him. “You- I’d half started to think you’d been discharged already, and I don’t even know your home address!”

“I wrote you,” Andrew said and pulled Steven into a hug. “But it seems like I arrived before the letter did.”

Steven remembered hearing the news on VE day. _ Victory in Europe, Hitler’s dead. Time to celebrate, have some champagne.  _ Adam had irrefutable picture evidence of Steven downing a glass of bubbly spirits while his platoon finished the bottle and an entire crate besides that they’d looted from an abandoned store in the Italian town. 

And here Andrew was now, and Steven wanted nothing more than to taste him like he had the champagne. They couldn’t though, not here, so Steven only returned the hug, and smiled at him when they separated again. Andrew looked to be in one piece, even if his cheekbones were more pronounced and the bags under his eyes darker - Steven blushed when he realized Andrew was giving him the same once-over, cataloguing how he looked and probably taking note to badger him about eating.

“Adam’s fine too,” Steven said, and Andrew’s forehead smoothed when he smiled

“Maybe we ought to go find him,” he said and carefully took his hand off Steven. Steven nodded and turned, only to walk into someone in the crowded mess hall. He was jostled, pushed back by the man who gruffly told him to watch it, and Steven only held up a placating hand and apologized before moving on.

“What a jerk,” Andrew muttered as he trailed after Steven, hands in his pockets. Steven smiled and shrugged.

“That’s just Jackson, he likes giving me a hard time,” Steven said. “He’s the one who lifted my cross back at boot camp.”

He touched his throat reflexively, and it took him a second to realize that Andrew had come to a complete stop. He looked back, eyebrows raised, to see Andrew stretch up on his toes, evidently trying to catch sight of Jackson again.

“Come on, Andrew,” Steven said and tugged at his elbow. “Leave it.”

“Like hell I will,” Andrew muttered, but he let himself be tugged by Steven and followed him to find Adam, so Steven thought no more about it. That was, not until they met up again that night, by a spot that Andrew had suggested for a smoking break even though he didn’t smoke anymore.

Steven had stood there just long enough to start wondering, when Andrew came round the corner, and Steven felt his face split into a smile. It froze when he saw the state Andrew was in, uniform rumpled and with streaks of dried blood down his chin that had stained the collar of his shirt.

“Andrew, what happened?” Steven said and hurried to pull him closer, run his hands over him to check for damage. His lower lip had split, and it looked like his left cheek was going to bruise, and his eyebrows were imperiously lowered. His eyes seemed darker for it, glowing like embers in coal. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Steven, nothing a good drink won’t fix,” Andrew said with an inflection that said he was joking, but Steven wasn’t in the mood to laugh.

“I mean it, what happened?”

Andrew sighed and winced when Steven probed his cheek, gently. “I had some words with Jackson,” he said, and Steven froze, hand still on Andrew’s face.

“What?” he said, feeling like the blood in his veins had turned to ice. Andrew huffed and covered Steven’s hand with his own, pulled it down.

“Tried to teach him some manners, but I don’t think it stuck,” he said and smiled, even though it made a fresh trickle of blood spill down his chin. Steven frowned, grasped the chin and wiped at the blood with his thumb, willing Andrew to stay quiet and still.

“I hope you didn’t do it for me,” he said evenly. “We ought to ask for a slab of meat to put on your lip.”

“Of course I did it for you,” Andrew said and captured Steven’s other hand, brought it down from his face as well. “Why else?”

Steven breathed out shakily and willed himself to meet Andrew’s eyes. Their hazel green color had shifted to gold in the twilight, and they were so beautiful, which made it all the harder for Steven to be honest. But he could be nothing else.

“I never want you to do that,” he said. “Please don’t- don’t do something that stupid just to prove- You don’t have to convince me, Andrew.”

“Steven-” Andrew said and made a move to cradle Steven’s face. It was Steven’s turn to grab his hand and bring it down, but when he put his hand over Andrew’s, he saw him wince. Steven pulled back to see that his knuckles were bruised and some even split, an angry red when Andrew flexed his hand in Steven’s. The ice in Steven’s veins spread to his gut, and he swallowed.

“What if Jackson tells your superior?”

“He won’t,” Andrew said with a small headshake. “He got his ass handed to him by a five foot six nobody, he won’t be eager to tell anyone about it.”

“If they find out, you could be dishonorably discharged,” Steven said, almost hugging Andrew’s hand at this point. “And if you- then you won’t get your college sponsored by the G.I bill and-”

“Hey,” Andrew said and put his hand on Steven’s waist, without pulling him closer. “Sounds like you’ve got my future all figured out.”

“I don’t! I just don’t want you to throw it away on account of me!”

Andrew looked at him, for a long moment, without saying anything. Then he closed his fingers around Steven’s, and pulled their fists to his chest and said, “It was stupid of me to risk it- risk this just because someone got under my skin. I’m sorry.”

“You better be,” Steven said, but he exhaled shakily and shifted his body closer, the ice beginning to thaw with how Andrew tilted his hip against him. Nothing was turning out the way Steven had thought, but it didn’t seem so daunting with Andrew smiling at him. It was just an upturning of the corner of his mouth, but Steven still melted into his touch.

“And for the record, Steven, I’d throw away any future for you.”

“Oh,” Steven said, half torn between laughing and rolling his eyes. “Shut up. And I’d kiss you senseless if you hadn’t gone and busted your lip.”


	3. Epilogue

In college, Andrew picked up boxing again. Steven laughed and told him it was a good way for him to beat the stuffing out of someone, to keep within the confines of a rulebook. Andrew had caught him in a weak wrestling grip as a punishment, but Steven had found out that Andrew was ticklish so all he needed to get him to yield was to poke him in the side. So he was soon let go, and Andrew only wrinkled his nose at him and returned to wrapping his hands.

Truth was, Andrew wished Steven would pick up something like boxing too. He was a year ahead of Andrew, in a different college no less, and he kept his nose in his chemistry books every spare second, barely looking up to eat, and Andrew knew for a fact that most nights, Steven woke with a start, drenched in cold sweat and gasping for air. If Andrew had been pummeling a sandbag for a few hours, he tended to be out like a light for the duration, but if he woke up with Steven out of bed, he rolled off the bed himself and shuffled up to him - usually by the window, or in the kitchen getting water - and stayed with him until he came back to bed.

One time, Andrew started to sing him a lullaby, as a joke, but Steven dropped off to sleep faster than usual, so sometimes Andrew did it seriously, pillowing Steven’s head on his chest and murmuring his way through _ Down In The Valley  _ until Steven’s breathing evened out. Somehow, it made Andrew sleep better too.

“Hey,” Andrew said one Saturday morning, when Steven was gearing up to go to the library. Andrew took some shifts down at the diner when he had the chance, but they didn’t need anyone today, so he had nowhere else to be.

“Hmm?” Steven said, buttoning his coat up over the silver cross Andrew had given him. He’d never bothered to get another one.

“My parents- my mom called,” Andrew said and walked up to Steven, leaning his hip on the doorframe as he reached over to fold the collar of Steven’s coat down right. “She told us to come visit.”

“Us?” Steven said mildly and raised his eyebrows, hands still on his buttons. Andrew reached down to do up the last one.

“Yeah,” he said with a little grimace. “She says I’ve been talking about you so much she wants to meet you.”

“Well, we can’t let Mrs Ilnyckyj down!” Steven said and planted an absent-minded kiss on Andrew’s cheek before he hoisted his messenger bag over shoulder and left with a goodbye wave and smile. Andrew stood leaned against the doorframe for just a moment, before he shook his head and straightened up. _Better roll up your sleeves and get some work done around the apartment for once,_ he thought. The bathroom could use a good scrubbing - Steven had been talking about it for a while.

* * *

It was completely unnecessary, the butterflies in Andrew’s stomach, but he couldn’t sit still for even a moment of the bus ride. Steven looked at him from the corner of his eye sometimes, and if Andrew looked back he smiled and grazed the back of his hand with his thumb. It was going to be fine, Steven was trying to tell him, and of course it was going to be fine. Why wouldn’t it? He was just visiting home with a friend from the war who happened to be his roommate now.

But when he walked up to the familiar, beaten up little truck that was waiting patiently by the bus stop with Steven in tow, Andrew couldn’t help but feel almost nauseous with nervousness. 

“Hey there, Drew!” his brother called cheerfully where he was half-leaned out the driver side window, flannel shirt sleeve rolled up to his elbow.

“Hi, Stephan,” Andrew said wearily, while Steven, with a low voice, repeated:

“Drew?”

“So this is Steven Lim,” Stephan said and hopped down from the truck to grasp Steven’s hand in a hearty handshake. He then pulled Andrew into a one armed hug that Andrew returned with both arms, just to prove a point. He took the middle seat, and was subsequently squished between Stephan and Steven the entire ride home. “They can’t wait to meet you,” Stephan was saying over Andrew’s head. “Ma’s probably put the meatloaf in the over already, to give you a proper welcome.”

Andrew suspected he was right - the smell wafted out as soon as the door opened, to him and Steven coming up the gravel path to the house where Stephan had dropped them off before parking the truck by the barn. The apple trees lining the path were full of fruit, but Andrew judged they weren’t quite ripe yet.

“Come in!” Andrew’s mother was telling them, smiling so widely Andrew feared her face would split in two. He held out his arms for a hug, and she conscientiously pulled him in across the threshold before she returned it. She didn’t let go of him entirely either, she kept one hand on him while she reached out the other for Steven to shake. Steven took the hat off his head and grasped her hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Ilnyckyj, I’m Steven Lim.”

“It’s a pleasure to have you Steven- can I call you Steven?”

“Why, of course,” Steven said warmly, and Andrew honestly couldn’t tell if the geniality was just Steven or if it was a mask he’d put on. He knew he had to put on a mask himself in any case, because his father had just come out into the foyer with his hands behind his back and frowning ever so slightly. Andrew set his own hands in his pockets.

“Andrew,” he said and Andrew replied:

“Father.”

Andrew saw his eyes shift to land on Steven and Andrew was suddenly convinced that it had to be obvious, written on his forehead that he loved Steven in a way his father would never understand. Andrew was powerless to stop his fists from clenching, felt his back straightening and shoulders stiffen as if directed by an external force. _ Don’t let him see,  _ he thought nonsensically, but Steven took two steps past him, fearlessly held out his hand and said, “Mr Ilnyckyj, nice to meet you!”

Andrew watched his father grasp Steven’s proffered hand and give him an appraising once-over as they shook.

“You too, son,” he said, which Andrew thought was a bit much. But then his mother ushered them further inside as Stephan stepped through the door too, and the tension dissipated in the hustle and bustle of setting out dinner, while Andrew furtively tried to show Steven around the house so it wouldn’t be a strange place to him. Soon dinner was ready and all five of them sat down to eat, Steven and Andrew opposite Andrew’s mother and brother, and his father at the end of the table.

The tension came back, gathering between Andrew’s shoulder blades, when his father leaned back in his chair two bites into his meal and said, “So, Steven. Where are you from?”

Andrew saw Steven swallow his mouthful of food and conscientiously wipe his mouth on the provided napkin before he replied, “California, sir. My parents are from British Malaya, but this is the only home I’ve known.”

He could see that his father was about to say something that Steven was bracing himself for, so Andrew squared his shoulders and said, “It’s like Lee - my troop mate, Eugene Lee, I’m sure you remember. He’s of Japanese heritage, but he fought our enemies same as me. Like I’m sure grandpa would have, if there had been a war after he moved here.”

Andrew’s father nodded like Steven had passed some kind of test, and Andrew’s knuckles whitened with his grip on the knife and fork, even when Steven settled some, shifting back in his chair beside him.

“His name is more American than mine,” Stephan added, with mock accusation in his voice, and Andrew’s father even grinned at that. Steven smiled and looked to Andrew - there was something he was dying to share with him, Andrew could tell, but Steven settled for pressing their knees together under the table, for just a moment. Andrew barely had the presence of mind to press back.

It was almost a relief when dinner was over and Andrew’s father took Steven and Stephan under each arm to show them into the living room, because then Andrew could stay back and help his mother put the dinner away. Steven shot him a look over his shoulder as he was led away, but Andrew only smiled encouragingly. Steven was doing just fine, if Andrew’s father wanted to show him the house.

Andrew and his mother worked in comfortable silence for a while, clearing the table together. He dealt with the leftovers while she boiled water, and he insisted on doing the washing by telling her that he didn’t know where to put things anymore, having lived away from home for so long. His mother acquiesced with an eye-roll and a smile, which had Andrew grinning as he started to scrub off lard from the plates.

When Andrew handed her the last plate to dry, she put it down on the counter with the towel, dried her hands on her apron and said, “He’s wearing your cross, Andrew.”

Andrew, with his little finger dipped in the dishwater to test the temperature, froze.

“Yeah,” he said in a measured tone without looking at her. “His- someone stole his, so I gave mine to him.”

His mother said nothing, so Andrew inhaled and turned to her. He raised his eyebrows defiantly, but she was just looking at him, with a tender expression he couldn’t quite read and her hands pressed to her apron. “What?” he said at last, resisting the urge to cross his arms.

“Nothing,” she said. “I only- I only want you to be happy, Andrew.”

Her eyes were shining, Andrew realized, with unshed tears. The line of her mouth wasn’t unhappy though, and Andrew had to blink himself, eyes prickling. He dried his hands on his pants, to have something to do, and lowered his eyes.

“I am,” he said hoarsely, and he startled when she pulled him into a hug. He hugged her back, for a moment, careful arms around her midsection. It was somehow still strange to be taller than her, even though it had been years. “Mom,” he protested gently into her hair when she set her hand to the back of his head, like she’d done when he was little and in need of comfort, and she pulled away with a small laugh.

“All right,” she said and tilted her head back to look up at him. “Keep being happy. Let’s leave the pots for tomorrow.”

“All right,” Andrew echoed with a smile, and when she untied the apron he dutifully hung it up to dry, before he followed her to the living room.

There, Steven was telling Andrew’s brother and father about a night he’d spent huddled under a stack of hay with a mad cameraman who’d been left behind by the troops because he wanted to get a picture. He didn’t pause when he caught Andrew’s eye, but the corner of his mouth quirked upward. Andrew smiled back; Steven seemed to fit in, somehow, in his neat, clean clothes and hair that was impossible to style but that Steven still made an effort with every morning, and his excitable but soft style of speech, his measured hand gestures. Andrew liked seeing him here, more than he’d expected to.

Steven was lively and handsome, and Andrew didn’t know that he’d fully let himself think it before. He settled against the wall and crossed his arms, listening to Steven’s story even though he’d heard it before, and from Adam as well. He was aware that his mother was regarding both him and Steven carefully, but he felt easier about it now.

When it was time to say their farewells, Stephan went ahead to get the truck, and Andrew’s parents followed the both of their guests to the door.

“Take care,” Andrew’s father said gruffly, as his mother pulled him into another hug.

“Yeah,” Andrew said and nodded to him when he stepped back. Steven touched the brim of his hat in acknowledgment, and to Andrew’s surprise, his mother pulled Steven in for a hug too. Steven met Andrew’s eyes over her shoulder, and Andrew was sure that the surprise in his eyes was mirrored in his own.

“Be good,” his mother told them when she stepped back and let go. “Come visit again.”

“We will, thank you,” Steven said with a smile, but Andrew could only nod because of the lump in his throat.

After Stephan dropped them off and after the long bus ride, on the last leg of the journey as they walked, Steven let out a small laugh into the night air. Andrew was glad that they were both wearing jackets over their shirts, because the night was quickly growing cold.

“What?” Andrew said, but he was already smiling himself. He bumped Steven’s elbow.

“Nothing,” Steven said. “You have your father’s smile, you know.”

“Ugh, God,” Andrew muttered as he unlocked the door, schooling his face into something sour. “I hope that’s the only thing of his that I have.”

“You also frown in the same way,” Steven informed him as they stepped inside. Andrew closed the door and felt how his body was sluggish with tiredness. “But you don’t walk like him at all, which your brother does.”

“Shut up,” Andrew informed him brightly and pulled Steven in to press their foreheads together. “I know we’re alike.”

“Your mother is nice,” Steven said softly and trailed his hand up Andrew’s arm.

“Yeah. She likes you,” Andrew said and saw understanding dawn in Steven’s eyes. They looked at each other for a moment, and then Steven smiled.

“I’m glad,” he said simply. Andrew smiled too, and pulled Steven closer for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The GI bill was signed into law in June 1944, so it’s not quite believable that Andrew would enlist for the purpose of getting the veteran’s benefit within the vague time frame of this fic. This is just one example of how I’ve played fast and loose with the realities of wartime life in the US and for US soldiers in Europe. For instance, no one went outside to smoke in the forties, are you kidding me? Back in the olden days you lit that cigarette up wherever and whenever you pleased. It was considered good for your health.
> 
> The Purple Heart is a medal awarded to US soldiers wounded or killed in action.
> 
> British Malaya is what the region of Malaysia was called before it declared independence from Great Britain in 1957, and the region saw massive deportations of Chinese people in 1920 which led to a communist uprising against the British: I think you can count Steven’s parents among the ones who fled to a better life because of this unrest. Andrew’s parents are the children of Ukrainian immigrants that settled in Oklahoma, but they migrated to California during the Dust Bowl of the 1930s. This is all backstory that I never meant to figure out and didn’t make it into the fic that is already like, double the length I originally planned.
> 
> I might have stolen the names of actual relatives to the Buzzfeed people and the names and faces of Buzzfeed people and associates, but this is in no way an accurate representation of any of them. I mean it’s set in the damn 1940s for one thing.
> 
> Feel free to comment, or come say hi on tumblr, you can find me @trailsofpaper!


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